


The Typical Love Song

by jamjoon



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Getting Together, Johnyong, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:35:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9483068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamjoon/pseuds/jamjoon
Summary: It's an ugly crush, but Taeyong doesn't regret it.





	

Unrequited love has been the kingpin of music for as long as music has existed, probably. Heartbreak, lovey-dovey, gaga gross sadness, Taylor Swift albums and early Big Bang.

But Taeyong isn’t sure if it’s love.

It’s just, Taeyong has adored Johnny for as long as he can remember. They clicked from day one,  of course, but Johnny has always been _pretty._ Even in the cringey old trainee days, Johnny had a charm about him that was undeniable.

He’s really grown up. The son of a bitch was born tall, perhaps, but he’s definitely taller now, hovering over them all from the back dance line.

“You’re just a hundred percent leg,” Taeyong says, head in one hand, eyes rolling when Johnny laughs him off.

“Just a big ol’ leg, huh?”

But it’s true. His legs are _long._ Like, long long. Like, you could draw a line from his feet to his hip, and you’d run out of sharpie. His hips are oddly angular – Taeyong has seen him half-naked more times than he can count (false, he knows the exact number, it’s twenty four). Johnny has this stomach that swells in, not muscular, but _smooth;_ his arms are oddly strong, carrying water jugs up two flights of stairs without a wink, lifting Winwin to bed when he falls asleep on the couch.

Johnny says that _Taeyong_ has a pretty face. He stops the Limitless MV viewing for it, for goodness sakes, just to say _“Sorry, but Taeyong is really handsome.”_

But nobody talks about _Johnny’s_ face. High, round cheekbones, swollen lips and droopy eyes that can pierce like ice and warm like coffee.

Okay, fine. It’s love, _maybe,_ but it’s cool. Taeyong also loves Ten and Jaehyun and Yuta and Mark and Taeil and Doyoung and Johnny and Johnny and Johnny and John-

Alright, okay, okay.

 

* * *

 

Being a leader entails a lot more work than you’d think; boring meetings, lots of words and opinions that don’t mean a damn thing to Taeyong, because let’s be honest, his opinion means diddly squat to the creative directors. Have you seen the way they’re dressed? Like fuck dude.

Whatever, it’s cool, this is his dream, you know?

There’s just a lot on his shoulders. The word _perfection_ likes to make a lap or two around the track in his brain, waving some big ol’ flags that warn _Failure! Failure!_

He’s supposed to hold his head high – support his team when they’re down – keep the rooms clean – _No Mark, you can’t climb that – for fucks sake, Jaehyun, there are minors in the room – Hey! Don’t eat that-_

Johnny debuting in the same subunit was the answer to every single prayer Taeyong ever had. Immediately, from day one, he’s been a shoulder to lean on. He’s the hand on Taeyong’s back, the smile across variety stages, the support beam that calmly tells the maknaes to cool the teasing.

Taeyong never really minded the jokes, (it’s all in good fun, he knows),  until Johnny was there to have his back. Now it makes Taeyong puff up, ruffle his feathers, hold his head high and beam _Yeah! Keep makin’ fun of me and Johnny will kick your butt, you little brats._

They’re filming again. What was it? Limitless room? Probably.  It’s just another game; it’s some weird relay race, which they’ve managed to fail three times. Balloon popping, shared pocky sticks, the whole sh’bam.

“You’re such a bad runner, hyung,” Haechan laughs.

“Taeyong hyung doesn’t really run,” Mark says. “Waddles, kinda’.”

“Like a duck!”

“Hey!” Taeyong laughs, hands on his knees, out of breath. He pointedly looks at Winwin, “You do the running part then.”

“No! I’m supposed to pop the balloon with Yuta hyung.”

“Besides,” Taeil waves, “It’s funnier when you do it.”

Taeyong feels his face heating, eyeing the cameramen as they reset the shots for another attempt at the race. A few noonas adjust their hair-

“Just put some elbow grease into it,” Yuta suggests. “Petal to the metal, heels to the dirt, yada yada.”

Taeyong deadpans, “I’m carrying an _egg_ on a _spoon_ in my _mouth.”_

“Act like Doyoung hyung just stole your frilly pink pajamas,” Mark laughs. “I’ve never seen you run that fast.”

Taeyong feels his face turning redder, but there’s not much he can do about that.  There’s universal laugher – Jaehyun doubles over, “Damn, I forgot about that.”

“They’re cute pajamas! What do you have to be embarrassed about?”

“Hyung likes lingerie~” Haechan sings.

The heat in Taeyong’s face falls to his chest. They were a little _sheer_ okay. Don’t judge.

“Hey,” Johnny says, the first he’s added to the conversation. It’s almost chilling, how fast everyone turns to look at him. What kind of leader is Taeyong? If he can’t get control of his group this fast? But Johnny just smiles, soft and lighthearted, with an underlying bite to his tone, “Watch it, maknae.”

Unsurprisingly, the last person you want to annoy is Johnny. He might not be physically bulging with muscles, but that’s a whopping 184 centimeters that you don’t want to fuck with.

Taeyong holds his head a little higher, as the conversation is dropped.

“Come on,” Johnny prods, freakishly large hand at his lower back. “We’ve got it this time.”

Taeyong laughs, “You sure about that?”

“Absolutely not. But it’ll be funny as hell when you break another egg.”

Taeyong chokes out a laugh, elbowing Johnny in the side, and jabbing his fingers into his gut, “Jerk!”

Johnny laughs, genuine, hair failing in his eyes as he doubles over, and something tangible churns in Taeyong’s stomach. It’s like, time slows. Feelings do that, Taeyong guesses.

He’s kind of beautiful.

They film again, Taeyong drops the egg, but when they laugh, Johnny has his back.

 

* * *

 

They’re so busy that Taeyong doesn’t have time to consider that, since Johnny debuted, he’s technically not allowed to crush on him anymore. Not that he was ever _supposed to,_ but now it’s kind of, uh, not good.

Moving on is another thing they sing about in all those love songs, but Taeyong doesn’t want to. Why should he?

Johnny always wakes up an hour earlier than everyone else. He showers fast, and paddles out into the bedrooms smelling like Taeil’s fruity shampoo.

Then, one by one, he wakes them up, hands on shoulders, gentle prodding, much, much better than the sharp shrieks of an alarm, or the yelling of their manager.

Taeyong has grown to adore the hand at his cheek, even so early in the morning.

“Taeyong~” He sings, thumb poking into his temple. His hands are warm from the shower. “Wakey wakey.”

Taeyong tenses, eyes screwing tighter, eyes coming to rub at his face. He lets out some unintelligent noise, and Johnny gives a rumbly chuckle above him.

Those long fingers tap his forehead, _pap pap,_ before leaving all together.

“I think Jaehyun and Winwin are making breakfast.”

Taeyong’s eyes snap open, and he sits up so fast, he almost falls out of bed, “They’re _what?”_

Johnny laughs, swaying in the doorway. He’s so tall, but he’s the most comfortable in his skin. He never slouches, never trips, never hits his elbows on doorways like Haechan, or gets his head stuck in his turtlenecks (Mark).

Speaking of, there’s a call from the other room, _“Hyyuuung, I’m stuck!”_

Doyoung’s hysteric laughter echoes down the hall, and Taeyong hangs his head in defeat.

“I got it, don’t worry,” Johnny says, walking away. “Go shower.”

Johnny disappears down the hall, and then there’s laughed words in English, some of which Taeyong manages to understand.

_“You’re an idiot.”_

_“It’s the hair!”_

_“No, it’s your bigass head. C’mere, put your- arms up-“_

_“Ah! Ow! Ow!”_

Taeyong rubs the rest of the sleep out of his eyes, cheek still burning from where Johnny touched it. He slinks out of bed, and peeps down the hall –

It’s chaotic, maybe, but Taeil throws out the burnt food, and Johnny gets them out the door on time, and Taeyong falls a little harder, maybe.

 

* * *

 

What used to be occasional, becomes daily. That hand at his cheek, that is. Fingers sweep across his cheekbones, a mumbled, “G’morning~” stirring him awake. Gentle prodding, soft words.  

Taeyong worries about what he might say. Because let’s be honest, when he wakes up, Johnny sitting above him, he wants to blurt _beautiful, you’re beautiful –_

But he cannot do that, because Johnny’s sexual orientation is a well-kept secret, and Taeyong isn’t about to go prodding. He’s the-

“Leader,” Jaehyun elbows him, smiling, “doin’ okay?”

“Hm?” Taeyong looks up, from where he was staring out the car window. “Yeah? Why?”

“Just making sure,” Jaehyun shrugs. “You look a little out of it.”

“Am I?” Taeyong rubs behind his head, “Sorry.”

“No, no. No one’s blaming you. Anything on your mind?”

Taeyong’s eyes immediately fall to Johnny, who’s sitting in the seat in front of them, playing some hand game with Haechan and Winwin.

Jaehyun’s smile grows Cheshire, and he smugly sits back in his seat, “Ahhhh.”

Taeyong embarrassingly clears his throat, and rubs at his nose, “Um. It’s nothing.”

“Uh huh,” Jaehyun elbows him lightly, still looking smug. “It’s fine, you know.”

“What do you mean?”

Jaehyun smiles, leaning his head on Taeyong’s shoulder easily, disgusting his voice as sleepy rather than secretive. He whispers, “He’s dated boys before.”

Taeyong tenses, nearly jerking Jaehyun off his shoulder, _“What?”_

Jaehyun pinches him, urging Taeyong to keep his voice quiet. He adjusts his head back on Taeyong’s shoulder, “He’s from America, dumb-dumb.”

 “So?”

“Things aren’t so strict there.”

Taeyong isn’t sure what to feel. Relief? Jealousy?

 

Taeyong looks back to Johnny, who’s smiling softly, Haechan whining over another lost game. He looks back to Jaehyun and squints, voice dropping, “How do I know you’re not messing with me?”

“I’m his _roommate,_ hyung.” Jaehyun sits back up, “I don’t really have a reason to lie to you.”

Taeyong feels his face heating again, so he looks back out the window, and counts the red cars as they drive.

 

* * *

 

He’s exhausted, head in his hand, pen tapping circles on his desk. They’re in the middle of promotions, but they plan comebacks on comebacks on comebacks, and Taeyong needs to pull his weight a little with the lyric writing. Mark already stresses him out as it is, staying so busy, on top of making so much music. He loves that kid.

Taeyong groans, resting his forehead against the desk. There’s a knock on the studio door, and Taeyong jolts up in his seat, papers scrambling.

Johnny appears, leaning up in the doorway, arms crossed. He smiles, “Having fun there?”

Taeyong sighs, rubbing his eyes, “Ah, totally.”

“You good?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just a creative block.”

“Mmm,” Johnny hums, shutting the door behind him, and taking a seat on the couch. “You should take a break. Everyone else is resting.”

“I’m okay,” Taeyong sits up straight, back popping. He grunts as he stretches, “I thought I had some ideas.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Taeyong looks down at his many papers, chicken scratch suddenly looking much worse than it did before. “Um.”

“I won’t laugh,” Johnny smiles. “Well, maybe I will, but only because I love you.”

He knows Johnny is joking. Taeyong _knows._ That’s who Johnny is – but it still sends Taeyong reeling, body freezing, eyes shakily staring holes into the floor. He clears his throat, shuffling the papers, “Um. Well. I was writing about home.”

Johnny sits up a little, eyes softening, “Really?”

“Haha, yeah.” Taeyong breathes, blood rushing past his ears as he calms. “I tried a few cheesy concepts. Like love, and stuff.”

“Mmm,” Johnny purrs. “You in love?”

Taeyong shrugs, “Probably.”

The look in Johnny’s eyes is unreadable, so Taeyong smiles, “I’d write more, if not for the babies on our team.”

Johnny snorts, “Please. The farthest you’ve gone is a handjob in secondary school.”

A pause.

“Okay, there’s absolutely _no_ way you know about that.”

“I didn’t, but now I do.”

Taeyong opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again. Eventually he settles on chewing on his lower lip, pouting, feeling completely bamboozled. Johnny’s laugher is more of a ridiculous cackle, as he tips his head back and kicks a little as he squirms.

“You’re an ass.”

“Me? What’d I do?”

“You tricked me!”

“Did I?” Johnny plays, familiar, soft smirk in place. “I was just trying to wipe that ugly frown off your face.”

Taeyong feels his lips with the pads of his fingers, and finds that he is, indeed, smiling. He licks his bottom lip once more, studying Johnny as he lounges on the couch. His hair is messy from running his hands through it too many times, but its undeniably handsome.

He must’ve stared too long, because Johnny is the one who breaks eye contact. “Anyways,” he stands up, “let’s go. Your eyes are turning red.”

“You go ahead, I’m just going to work a little longer-“

A hand grips his wrist, long, strong fingers. Taeyong meets his eyes, as he’s pulled to his feet.

“Food,” Johnny says. “Water. Sleep. For thousands of years these three have lived in harmony.”

Taeyong snorts, as he’s pulled along.  “Until one day, the fire nation attacked?”

“SM, more like,” Johnny says, making Taeyong laugh so hard, he trips over his own foot. Johnny grips his upper arm, steadying him in the hall. Taeyong wipes away a tear, tipping his head a little to read the look on Johnny’s face – and he’s smiling too, eyes squinting with the effort.

Johnny’s grip falls to his hand, and he’s pulled once again through the halls. Taeyong follows, staring at their interlocked fingers with an innate sense of yearning.

 

* * *

 

Taeyong goes about his days with a bigger pep in his step than before. He’s in a good mood, okay? They’re kicking ass, topping charts, working hard –

His Johnny Crisis becomes less of a heartache, and more of a fact of life. The intense yearning is quelled, through Johnny’s gentle brushes and soft gestures. Through his hair that sticks to his forehead during practice, through the small things, like using the bottom of his shirt to wipe his brow.

Taeyong doesn’t _think_ he’s acting any different, but apparently he is, because Yuta whispers him a message in passing.

_“You’re playing with wolves.”_

It stops Taeyong dead in his tracks. He blinks, eyebrow raised, staring at Yuta’s retreating figure.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean.”

“It means watch your back~” Yuta sings, swaying into his bedroom and clicking the door shut.

It feels vaguely like a threat, but it’s coming from _Yuta,_ so Taeyong tries not to think twice about it. He goes about his days, early mornings, woken to soft hands and gentle good mornings. He accidentally falls asleep on Johnny’s shoulder in the car, but he’s gently shaken awake, and made fun of all the way into SM’s practice room.

Taeyong understands what Yuta meant two weeks later, when he’s rummaging through his closet, and cant find a damn clean thing to wear.

He’s actually shit out of luck, because everything in his closet smells absolutely atrocious, including the gym shirt he was just in. He’s down to his last pair of clean boxers, for fucks sake. He digs harder, looking for just _one_ shirt to sit in while waiting for the washing machine.

Ugh, this is _so_ unlike him. Usually everything is nice and neat, pristine and clean – these 3 am early schedules are throwing him off.

He looks over to Taeil’s bed; he’s asleep, unsurprisingly. It’s their first free night in four weeks; most of the members gone out to eat, some retiring to bed early. So Taeyong patters out into the hall. Maybe Doyoung is still awake, and will let him borrow a shirt for the night –

But he passes a perfectly clean sweater laying across the back of the kitchen chair, and it’s like the holy angel Michael himself is singing praises. He immediately recognizes it as Johnny’s, but figures he won’t miss it too much. They’re best friends anyways.

He throws on the sweater, the hem barely reaching the bottom elastic of his black underwear. It’s soft, a grey knit, the sleeves falling far down his wrists. It smells very much like Johnny.

“Fuck, you’re tall,” Taeyong whispers to himself. He pushes up the sleeves a little, only to have them fall back down. So he shrugs, paddles into the laundry room, throws a cup of detergent into the machine, and listens to her purr.

For once, he doesn’t have any plans, so he grabs a book off the book/hat/figurine shelf, and curls up on the couch.

 

* * *

 

The washing machine buzzes loudly, jolting Taeyong out of his book. He rubs his shins, a little cold, and stands up to waddle into the laundry room. It’s oddly silent – probably won’t stay this way for long, once Yuta brings all the kids home.

 He hums to himself, oddly content-

A hand fists into the back of the big, baggy sweater, and hauls him through the nearest door, which is apparently the bathroom.

Taeyong lets out an incredibly undignified noise, scrambling as he’s pushed up against the granite, and hands come to trap him in.

Taeyong looks up – _up-_ into Johnny’s eyes. What Yuta said, about wolves –

He lets out a breath, sagging, _“Fuck._ Youngho _._ You scared the shit out of me.”

He’s not sure what he expects. A laugh? A _ha-ha scared you!_ But he gets none of that. Instead it’s hot, unwavering brown eyes; they tear into him, see his genetic makeup, DNA and all. Taeyong thinks of every curseword he knows – every English one that Johnny ever taught him -

“Are you fucking with me?” Johnny says, surprisingly low – and that’s funny, because Taeyong has a deep ass voice, but not many know that Johnny can go _lower._

“Huh?” Taeyong blurts, smartly.

Johnny arches a finely shaped eyebrow (thanks noonas), and looks Taeyong up and down. His gaze is slow, and borderline possessive, starting at the exposed skin of Taeyong’s thighs, and trailing up to his collarbones, where the big sweater slides off his left shoulder.

 _Devour me,_ Taeyong’s brain sings. _Eat me alive._

Johnny asks slowly, purposefully, and without tease. “Is that my sweater?”

Taeyong’s tongue is sticking to the backs of his teeth, and his palms feel sweaty. Johnny’s gaze is _hot._ He’s probably mad, but even so, it’s attractive.

“Ah, sorry.” Taeyong shifts, “ I didn’t think it’d be a big deal.”

Johnny’s hands grip tighter on the lip of the counter, his knuckles turning white, trapping Taeyong’s hips between his wrists. He leans closer; Taeyong feels his heart in his ears, gut flip flopping.  

“You have no idea.”

Taeyong answers slowly, leader-like confidence making him stand up a little taller. Two can play at this game, “About what?”

He rumbles the beginning of a “ _You’re such a tea-“_ before the feverish look in Johnny’s eyes blinks away, body snapping, like a lost man suddenly realizing where he is. He pulls back, the small distance between them dissipating, Johnny rasping a “Shit. Sorry. Sorry, Taeyong, I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-“

“Johnny.”

Taeyong tips his chin up, watching a blush crawl down beneath Johnny’s shirt collar. Taeyong studies him, heart still thumping – Johnny shies away, embarrassed. So Taeyong takes a shot in the dark.

“Take it back,” Taeyong says.

“W-What?”

Taeyong grips the woven fabric between his fingers, pulling at the slack, looking Johnny dead in the eye. “The sweater.” He tightens his fingers, pulling down enough that the tip of his own sternum shows.

All is still. 

Johnny looks frozen in time, and Taeyong can physically see the wheels turning in Johnny’s head, so he tries again, harsher this time.

_“Johnny.”_

Hands come to the hem of the sweater, low, by his thighs. They’re in the tiny hallway bathroom, but it feels smaller, more intense. Johnny’s breathing is suddenly so loud, filling the room.

 _“Tae…”_ Johnny rolls the hem between his fingers, pupils dilatated, one strand of hair falling in his face. He’s warm – Taeyong can feel it, as he shakes out, “It’s fine, keep it, I don’t – I don’t care-“

Taeyong reaches up, up, up, to grip the back of Johnny’s slender neck, hauling him down with strength, and tipping his head just enough to kiss him properly.

And hands brace by his hips again, gripping the countertop, Johnny using height and gravity and weight to sway Taeyong against the granite, kissing the absolute life out of him. It catches Taeyong off guard; he wasn’t exactly sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this – Johnny kissing him back, way, way more talented than Taeyong thought was possible.

He’s hot – it’s not the big explosion of fireworks, or the cliché shit bands sing about – it’s just, _right._ It just feels right. Like every ounce of accidental flirting, every brush, had finally led up to this.

Taeyong breathes out of his nose, choking back a noise, gripping the back of Johnny’s neck and holding the fuck on. It’s anything but stagnant, moving lips, Johnny sighing above him. He’s so _tall._

The bubble pops when Johnny pulls back, staring at Taeyong with big droopy eyes. They're round, full. 

“Noo,” Taeyong whines, nails digging into the back of his neck. He arches up, standing on his tippy toes, “Don’t stop-“

“Taeyong,” Johnny stops him, voice dropping lower as there’s rummaging in the kitchen. “Don’t – don’t do this. Um,” he searches for the words, “don’t do this because you feel like, like you have to.”

“What?”

“Don’t take pity on me,” Johnny finally says, and looks heartbroken about it. For once, he looks uncomfortable in his skin; it’s not a good look for him, no, no not at all. Except, his lips are red from kissing, pupils dilatated, hair messy from Taeyong’s fingers.

There’s more rummaging from the kitchen; Taeyong drops his voice lower.

“Johnny,” He whispers, shifting on his feet, toes cold from the tile floor. His mouth says, “Johnny, I’ve had a big disgusting crush on you for like, _way_ too long, and if there’s any teeny tiny chance that you might also kind of like me back, and you _still_ aren’t kissing me in the next five seconds, I’m going to set this entire dorm on fire and hurl myself out the wind-“

Johnny lets out this astonished laugh, that doesn’t sound too much like a laugh, but more of an exhale, before he wraps his arms around Taeyong’s waist, and kisses him harder this time.

If Taeyong could purr, he would; instead he claws through Johnny’s hair and tips his head and welcome’s Johnny’s tongue when it feels brave enough to lick into his mouth.

Johnny’s _tongue,_ dear lord, it’s better than Taeyong ever, ever imagined (and he imagined it a lot, shush). It curls across his own, maps out his mouth, plunges hard enough to feel like Taeyong has been punched in the gut. His whole body tingles, just from this.

It should be disgusting, the way they kiss too loudly, too messily, but it’s oddly perfect. It’s exactly what Taeyong needs – he feels his body twisting with every small thing Johnny’ does; especially when he tips his head and runs his thumb across the divot of Taeyong’s hipbone. He’s pushing up the sweater, smoothing around the skin of his sides, and Taeyong would melt if he could. It’s hot enough to.

There’s a knock on the door.

_“Hyung? Have you seen Johnny?”_

They pull back long enough for Taeyong to call, “We’re busy,” before Johnny moves on to the skin of his neck, and Taeyong sags against the counter.

 _“Ugh, whatever,_ ” Doyoung huffs. “ _Tell him we have his leftovers in the fridge._ ”

“Kay,” Johnny answers, teeth scraping a lovely line down the swell of Taeyong’s neck. When Doyoung’s overexaggerated footsteps fade into an overexaggerated door slamming shut, Taeyong lets out the shaky breath he was holding.

Johnny doesn’t say anything, preoccupied with licking into the divot of his neck, and digging his fingers into Taeyong’s hips. Taeyong can see the angle getting tough, so he’s not surprised when Johnny lifts him up onto the counter. Not surprised – but still turned _on,_ fuck.  Taeyong spreads his thighs easily, Johnny stepping between them, now seeing eye to eye.

“Are you sure you don’t want to move somewhere else?”

Taeyong tugs on the bottom of the sweater, trying to inconspicuously hide how hard he’s getting. “No.”

Johnny’s eyes flicker down, then back up again, before he _grins,_ wolf-like, slinking up and kissing Taeyong until his lips bruise.

Except, Taeyong is selfish. He wants to bruise, mark him up, dig his nails into Johnny because he _can._ The reality of the situation hasn’t hit him yet – it probably won’t for a while. Taeyong enjoys this state of cloud nine – of huffing into Johnny’s mouth, touch starved and needy.

Taeyong wastes no time in hiking up Johnny’s shirt, and running his fingers up and down Johnny’s chest, back, shoulderblades, arms – he tweaks his nipples, digs his nails into his sternum, purrs into Johnny’s mouth and feels the elder shiver.

A curse is muffled against his lips, Johnny rolling closer, their hips not touching yet, but almost.

Taeyong does what he’s wanted to do for a _long_ time, and that’s reaching around to grab Johnny’s ass, hauling him close enough for their crotches to finally rub. It’s a really nice ass. It fits so well in Taeyong’s hands. Electricity conducts between them, bodies lightly shuddering, eyes opening.

“This okay?” Taeyong manages.

“Uh,” Johnny processes. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Kay,” Taeyong says, and pulls Johnny closer again, rubbing the outline of his cock against Johnny’s. It suddenly processes then, that it’s Johnny’s _dick,_ and he’s _hard,_ for fucks sake, Taeyong whines a little bit.

Johnny, who’s been going with the flow, suddenly surges with control, pushing up Taeyong’s sweater and pulling down the elastic of his boxer briefs, until the top of Taeyong’s cock hits cold air.

 _“Fuck, shit,_ ” Johnny curses instead, _“Fuck._ ”

Taeyong chokes, hands flying to the countertop, as Johnny shoves his hands down his underwear and brings his mouth to sloppily kiss beneath Taeyong’s ear.

 _“_ Fuck,” Johnny curses again, whining in English, “You’ve been driving me up a wall for _soo long.”_

Taeyong squirms, writhing, because Johnny’s hand is warm and dry, but his fingers are so _long_ and Taeyong is actually so hard that literally anything feels good right now – his thighs spread wider, head falling back against the mirror, a choked noise getting caught in this throat. Johnny twists his wrist on the upstroke, obviously practiced, and Taeyong accidentally moans, fingers curling in Johnny’s hair.

Johnny looks up at him, droopy, puppy eyes full of heat and want. His tongue soothes over his bottom lower lip, and Taeyong feels his sanity take a leap out the window.

“Off, clothes off,” Taeyong paws.

“Wait,” Johnny breathes, and it’s low enough to make Taeyong’s cock twitch in his hand. Johnny pulls his hand away, as he says, “Wait. Can I just, indulge myself for like, _five minutes?_ ”

Taeyong doesn’t know what that means, but he kind of wants to find out, so he dully nods.

“Knock yourself out.”

Johnny smiles, before hooking his fingers into the elastic of his underwear, and hurling the fabric to the bathroom floor. Taeyong jumps from the cold countertop pressing into his ass – but his heart stops when Johnny sinks to his knees. Fingers grip his thighs, hauling him to the edge of the granite; the fucker is so tall, that even with Taeyong sitting on the counter, he’s about face level with Taeyong’s crotch.

Taeyong feels self conscious, until Johnny chews on his bottom lip. 

Thumbs dig into his inner thighs. Taeyong bites his fist, as Johnny wastes no time in wrapping his lips around the head of Taeyong’s cock, and sucking shamelessly.

 _“Nn!”_ Taeyong grits into his knuckles, body sliding dangerously forward on the edge of the counter. One toe barely reaches the floor – Johnny’s pretty lips stretch around his cock, head moving down with ease. One of his man-hands takes his free leg, and hauls it over his shoulder, making it easer for Johnny to sink down farther.

It’s a dream. It _has_ to be. Johnny's mouth is wet and warm and tight and _everything,_ just everything. Johnny’s eyes occasionally flicker up, way too smug, before closing, as if he’s actually enjoying it. Taeyong squirms, teeth digging into his knuckles-

Johnny laves his tongue beneath the head of Taeyong’s cock, slurping without shame, kissing down and sucking hard. Taeyong squirms, jolts, feels himself harden beyond physical comprehension. He sinks down off the counter a little more, Johnny holding him up with that one right leg, his left toes still barely brushing the tile. They look like a porno – Taeyong fists a hand in brown hair, and holds on.

"Hot," Johnny says, between breaths. "You're fucking hot."

Taeyong can barely remember his name, let alone a response to that, so he bucks his hips instead. 

Johnny builds a slow rhythm; Taeyong moans and writhes, mewls even, so undignified but too lost to care. Johnny looks so good, _so good._ Taeyong looks between his legs, where the very obvious press of Johnny's cock lies in his jeans, and Taeyong feels his mouth actually water.

“Johnny,” Taeyong rasps. His back arches, “ _Johnny,_ I can’t.”

Johnny pulls back, just enough that Taeyong’s cock is resting against his lips. His fingers are bruising his thighs, but all Taeyong can feel is the pulse between his legs. Johnny looks up at him, smiling softly, and reaches out to gently lick across the head, “It’s okay.”

They’re in a bathroom. Taeyong has wanted this for _so_ long, and they’re doing this in a goddamn bathroom of all places, but all rational thought has flown out the window, and Taeyong is splitting at the seams.

Johnny licks a clean stripe again, smiling when his dick jumps against his lips. Taeyong shudders, arches, while Johnny smirks and has the gall to say, _“I want it._ ”

It starts in his stomach; a deep, thick heat that rolls between his legs, and sparks up and down his back. He groans, forgetting to bite his fist, toes digging into the floor, a heel rolling down Johnny’s back. Johnny sucks him down again, swallowing like a goddamn pro, throat working in a way that makes Taeyong instantly jealous of every single past lover Johnny ever had.

He comes so hard, he slips fully off the counter; Johnny holds him up skillfully, swallowing around him. Taeyong shivers, eyes creeping open. It’s a punched feeling – like his soul and body are meeting for the first time.

Johnny pops off, licking his lips, and gently setting both of Taeyong’s shaky legs on the floor.

“Ass,” is all Taeyong is able to grit, still trembling. “You ass.”

Johnny smiles, “Sorry not sorry.”

Taeyong closes his eyes again, slinking back against the counter to breathe. Johnny stands up, and Taeyong blindly pulls him closer by his belt loops.

“I’m dead,” Taeyong says.

“Good.”

Johnny leans in to kiss his temple, probably, but Taeyong tilts his head for a proper kiss. Johnny is surprised by it, so Taeyong licks into his mouth, and tastes around his tongue.

There’s a whine behind the door.

_“Guuuuys. I really have to pee.”_

And-

_“Haechan leave them alone, they’ve having a moment.”_

_“But in our bathroom? I gotta pee!”_

_“Go use ours.”_

_“Sicheng is in there!”_

_“Then-“_

“Calm down,” Johnny calls, softly smiling. “We’re coming out.”

Taeyong raises an eyebrow, pointedly looking  below Johnny’s belt.

“It’s fine,” Johnny says. Long fingers brush back his sweaty bangs, and Taeyong pouts.

“No fair,” Taeyong huffs, searching for his underwear.

“Next time.”

Taeyong smiles at that, wiggling into the briefs, and turning to look at himself in the mir-

Oh _god._

Johnny laughs, head tipped back, hands falling to his sides.

_“Guys! Please!”_

“Coming~” Johnny laughs.

“ _Phrasing~”_ is echoed back.

 Johnny wipes his eyes, ignoring Taeyong’s horror. “Pull that sweater up sweetheart. I’m opening the door.”

Taeyong simultaneously wants to punch him, and kiss him silly, but he settles on pulling up the sweater and running a hand through his hair. He looks like _shit,_ neck red and spit-slick, strands of hair sticking to his face.

The door clicks open – Haechan grabs both their arms in his furious little fists, and pushes them out into the hallway, bathroom door slamming shut.

Johnny is still laughing, so Taeyong half-heartedly punches him in the gut.

 

* * *

 

“You look awfully proud of yourself,” Jaehyun says, the next week.

“Hm?”

“Like the cat who ate the cannery.” Yuta explains. He taps his chin, “Or perhaps, the cannery ate the cat.”

Taeyong’s face turns six shades darker, and Jaehyun breaks out laughing. “How adventurous!”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Kind of,” Jaehyun rests his head in his hand, pouting. “I wish I had a cat to eat my cannery.”

“Oh my god,” Yuta pushes his shoulder. “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m _honest._ ”

“Well,” Taeyong shifts. “Thanks for being cool with it, I _guess._ ”

“You guys are good for each other,” Doyoung appears, Starbucks in hand. He passes them around – Taeyong seeks out Johnny, and sees him talking with Mark, feeding the younger with his chopsticks, and it makes his stomach fill up with warm fuzzies.

“Heechul hyung caught us holding hands the other day,” Taeyong says. “I thought we were fucked, but he didn’t even bat an eyelash.”

“That’s because it’s _Heechul.”_

“True.”

“Were going on break soon,” Doyoung changes the subject. “Anyone going home?”

“I am.”

“No,” Taeyong shakes his head. “I have stuff to work on.”

“Hm,” Jaheyun sips. “Are you sure you’re not just stressing over Haechan and Mark?”

“Maybe.”

“They’ll be fine,” Yuta says. “It’s just a month of promotions.”

“After _four_ non-stop comebacks.”

“Is Johnny staying?”

“Yeah?”

“See, it’ll be fine,” Jaehyun slaps his back. “Mom and dad will take great care of them.”

Doyoung breaks out laughing, Taeyong rubbing his nose with a pout. He looks for Johnny again, but this time Johnny is staring at him. Taeyong blinks; Johnny has the gall to wink, before turning back to his conversation.

 

* * *

 

That night, Taeyong sneaks out of his bed. He patters down the hall, around the corner, and into Johnny’s sheets. The dorm is eerily quiet.

“Babe?” Johnny whispers, half asleep and in English. Taeyong doesn’t answer – he just squirms in close, exhausted, but not enough to sleep by himself, thanks.

Big, long arms wrap around him, and Taeyong presses his nose into Johnny’s neck, and sighs. It’s dark, but they didn’t close the curtain enough to shut off all the moonlight.

Jaehyun rustles in his sheets, but lets out a snore, and settles down. Taeyong holds back a laugh. Large hands sweep down his back, pulling him just a little closer.

“Okay?” Johnny whispers.

“Mmmm,” Taeyong replies. Johnny sleeps shirtless, and Taeyong can thank his lucky stars for that. “Remember….when…”

“Hm?”

“Remember when you said _next time?_ ”

Johnny holds back a laugh; Taeyong can feel it.

 

When he wakes up, it’s to fingers tapping his forehead. He stirs, squinting in the sunlight.

Johnny is above him, smiling, clean from a shower.

“Mornin’.”

Taeyong tenses, and turns over, muffling his face in the pillow. Nono, too early. He’s sore from lack of sleep, amongst other things.

Hands squirm into his sides; Taeyong nearly squeals-

“Wakey wakey!” Johnny says louder. “We’ve got practice, schnookums.”

 _“Grooooosssssss,”_ Haechan calls, in sync with Taeyong. Johnny laughs, reaching down to kiss his shoulder.

“You’ve got twenty minutes to shower.”

“Great,” Taeyong turns, looking him in the eye- and there’s a quick brush of lips against his, before they’re gone.

Taeyong sits up, gently touching his bottom lip with his fingers. His body aches, his head hurts, but his chest is warm and fuzzy, and the apartment smells like pancakes.

He thinks he might write a song.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive any mistakes

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] The Typical Love Song](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15561480) by [the24thkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the24thkey/pseuds/the24thkey)




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